He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother
by DarthAbby
Summary: All Dean wants to do is make sure Sam doesn't get pulverized by a few idiots, but the younger Winchester is insistent he can take care of himself. Just a fluffy little oneshot of young Sam and Dean. Very minor Sam!Whump. Mostly just Protective-Brotherly-Feels. Title from song by Neil Diamond. NOT a songfic.


**My first Supernatural story! Still only just getting to Season Four right now, so some details might be wrong, but all in all I think this is actually pretty good. Enjoy!**

**I don't own Supernatural, Sam, Dean, or John Winchester. I probably own anything you don't recognize. Probably. Like Winnie, Eddie, and Mrs. Wargo. Them I own. Because I made them up. But anything else is most definitely not mine.**

**000**

Dean Winchester scowled at the clock, urging it to move faster. _Physics_, he scoffed mentally, _I learned everything I need to know about that the first time Dad taught me hand-to-hand._ Deciding to silently assess the two cute girls sitting in front of him, Dean was, not for the first time, thankful that most classes were seated alphabetically by last name, giving him ample opportunities to check out most of the girls without ever having to turn around.

His eyes lingered on the long blonde curls of Winnie Rogers, who sat just in front and to the left of him. She was bent over her desk, pen skittering across the paper as she took notes on the lecture. Dean had long ago come to the conclusion that girls like sweet, innocent Winnie were why he still put up with school. Hell, just people like her in general were why he tried so hard to be the perfect hunter his dad wanted him to be.

The bell finally rang, signaling the end of class. "Thank God," Dean muttered, slinging the old, torn up backpack over one shoulder as he stood and moved towards the door.

"Tell me about it," someone sighed next to him. He turned and grinned.

"Really? I thought you liked physics, Winnie," he teased.

"Hardly," she rolled her eyes, "Too much math and logic and rules. Give me a good, messy art class any day."

He chuckled, both at her words and the splotch of green paint on her hand that she proudly displayed. He looked back towards the door, clogged with people, and frowned.

"What's the hold up?" he called.

"There's a fight!" one of the kids nearer to the door, Eddie, answered, seemingly thrilled. "Couple of juniors whaling on a freshman!"

Dean rolled his eyes. Even though he had only been in town a few months, he had already pegged the fellow senior as a bit…well, _over excited_ was putting it mildly.

"Doesn't sound very fair to me," Dean grumbled and began pushing his way through the crowd, trying to see who was fighting and if he should stop it. He shoved the last few people out of the way and found three boys tussling in the middle of a circle of classmates. With a sinking heart that was quickly replaced by a burning anger, Dean recognized the shaggy brown hair of the skinniest boy.

"Hey!" he shouted, rushing in and grabbing one of the juniors. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" The bully tried to shake him off, but Dean's grip was akin to that of a bulldog.

"Teaching this damn freshman a lesson," the kid snarled, grabbing Dean's wrists. Big mistake.

Dean snapped his right arm out to the side without any warning, throwing the kid off-balance, and shoved him down hard, leaving the kid lying breathless on the floor as he turned to Bully Number Two. A solid right hook to the side of his head took care of the other junior. Dean dusted his hands off, ignoring the stares of his classmates.

"You shouldn't hit anyone," he growled at the bullies' prone forms, "But especially not _my_ brother." He looked over at their victim. "You okay, Sammy?"

Sam ducked his head, trying to hide the bruises and avoid Dean's eye. "M'fine," he muttered, picking up his bag and walking away as the other kids dispersed, whispering to one another and eyeing Dean and the two juniors that were only just now sitting up dizzily.

Dean sighed as he watched Sam go and ran a hand through his short hair with frustration. He had only been trying to help…

A hand touched his shoulder and he turned to see Winnie giving his a small smile. "Go on," she said, nodding after Sam. "I'd wager that he needs you right now more than you need trigonometry. I'll stop in and tell Mrs. Wargo that you took him to the nurse."

"Thanks," he returned the smile tightly, "I owe you one."

She gave him a gentle push down the hall, towards Sam, and hurried off in the opposite direction as he followed his brother.

Dean soon fell into step next to Sam like he always did, just slightly ahead, but still right next to his little brother. "Mind if I ask what started it?" he asked after a few silent moments.

"Let it go, Dean," Sam mumbled, trying to hide behind his long bangs.

"When have I ever let it go before?" Dean pointed out.

Sam sighed heavily and turned into the boys' bathroom. Dean leaned against the wall as he watched the thirteen year old splash cold water on his face. The bell for the next period rang, but neither moved to leave.

"You gonna tell me what happened or not?" Dean asked with a raised eyebrow, trying to catch Sam's eye in the mirror.

"You gonna tell me why you never let me fight my own battles or not?" he shot back.

"Because I'm the big brother and it's my job," he said with a sense of finality. "Dad told me to look after you, Sammy, and I'll be damned if you get beaten to a pulp by two meatheads when I can break it up that easily. So, come on. Tell me. What started it?"

"Dean…"

"_No_, Sam. We've been over this."

"And yet you still can't understand that I can take care of myself!" Sam all but shouted.

"Didn't look like from where I was standing five minutes ago!"

"Then maybe you should find a different place to stand! I'm not a little kid anymore, Dean!"

"No, but you're still my little brother, and nothing can change that!" Dean's eyes were practically burning holes in the back of Sam's head. "You wanna talk about me saving your stupid ass from big-headed football players, _again_, fine, but save it for later, alright? Now tell me, what did they do?"

Sam's shoulders stiffened, but he didn't push the issue. Fighting with Dean was different than fighting with their dad. It didn't feel right, like something was out of place, and he didn't like it. Not that he _liked_ fighting with their dad, either, but that happened so often it was practically the norm. "They," he started, still not looking at his brother, "They were talking shit about…about Mom."

Dean's fists clenched and he ground his teeth together angrily. He didn't ask what had been said – he had heard it all before, from other jackasses, in other schools. _Miss your mommy, Winchester? ... What are you gonna do, go run crying to your mommy? Oh, wait I forgot – she's dead! … I bet she's not even dead, she just left because she didn't want to look at your ugly face anymore. … Hey! Winchester! I heard that your dad killed your mom, and that's why you move so much! That true? …_ and on, and on, and on. "So you punched 'em, right?"

Sam winced. "No," he sighed apologetically, "I tried to walk away, not cause any trouble, y'know? But they weren't done and threw a textbook at me." He wordlessly gestured at his left shoulder blade. Dean walked over and pulled up the back of Sam's shirt to take a look.

"Those sons of bitches," he scowled, seeing the already purpling bruise that looked like someone had forcefully held Sam against the corner of a table for a long time. "I hope _that's_ when you hit them."

Sam nodded and tugged his shirt back down, leaning forward to examine his face in the mirror. Some blood was starting to bead on his lower lip and the rapidly darkening bruises on his cheekbones and around his eyes contrasted sharply with his pale skin.

Dean made a mental note to ask Dad if they could go South next. Sam would look a hell of a lot healthier with a tan.

Several quiet minutes later and they were still standing in the bathroom, one dabbing at his lip with a damp paper towel, the other back to leaning against the wall. Dean glanced at his watch. There was only about an hour and a half of school left, and he usually skipped his last class anyways.

"D'you wanna head out?" he asked bluntly. He expected Sam, studious, smart Sam, to say no, to say he needed to go to his English class, but he didn't.

"Yeah," he said instead, nodding slowly, finally meeting Dean's gaze in the mirror. "Yeah, let's go."

Dean smiled and slung his arm around his brother's shoulders as they walked towards the nearest exit. He absently noted that it wasn't as perfect of a fit as it used to be – Sam was shooting up like a weed, and would probably pass Dean within the next year or so. He wasn't sure he liked that idea, and it wasn't even in a vain way. If Sam was taller than his big brother…Dean wasn't sure why, but he felt like it would be harder to protect him.

They managed to leave without incident and started walking towards the cheap motel their dad had chosen as a home base when they rolled into town four months ago. The man in question was gone at the moment, two days into a predicted six-to-eight day hunt. As they short-cutted through an empty lot, a chill passed over Dean and he stopped, looking at Sam. "Did you feel that?"

"Feel what?"

Dean stepped backwards and forwards a few times, testing his theory, then smiled at his brother. "Cold spot."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Think it's worth looking into?"

"We've looked into less."

"Should we call Dad?"

Dean shook his head unconcernedly, pulling an old EMF reader he had nicked from the trunk at some point out of his backpack. "Nah. He's got that bat-shit-crazy possessed guy to take care of in Kentucky. I think we can handle one pissed little ghost."

Sam shook his head, but smiled. Most people would be running in the opposite direction, but them? No, they're Winchesters. They run towards the things that go bump in the night, so that no one else has to.


End file.
